Scales. Not by his will. For aught that I can see, He lingers still in his long siege at Nuse. I urg'd his promise and your expectation, Ev'n to the force and compass of my spirit. I cheer'd my firm persuasions with your hopes, And gilded them with my best oratory : I fram'd my speech still fitly, as I found The temper of his humour to be wrought ; But still I found him earthly, unresolved, Muddy; and, methought, even through his eyes, I saw his wav'ring and unsettled spirit; And, to be short, subtle and treacherous, And one that doth intend no good to you. And "He will come, and yet he wanteth power; " "He would fain come, but may not leave the siege " "He hopes he shall, but yet he knows not when" "He purposéd, but some impediments Have hinder'd his determinéd intent."
Briefly, I think he will not come at all.
King. But is he like to take the town of Nuse ?
Scales. My lord, the town is liker to take him;
That, if he chance to come to you at all,
But what says Count St. Paul?
Scales. My lord, he lies and revels at Saint Quintin's,
And laughs at Edward's coming into France;
There domineering, while his drunken crew
Make jigs of us, and in their slav'ring jests
Tell how like rogues we lie here in the field.
Then comes a slave, one of those drunken sots,
Disguised with a cushion on his head,
A tavern-reckoning for a supplication,
A drawer's apron for a herald's coat,
And tells the Count, the King of England craves
One of his worthy honour's dog-kennels,
To be his lodging for a day or two.
With some such other tavern-foolery.
With that, this filthy, rascal, greasy rout
Burst out in laughter at this worthy jest,
Neighing like horses. Thus the Count St. Paul
Regards his promise to your majesty.
King. Will no man thrust the slave into a sackbut? Sel. Now, by this light! were I but near the slave With a black jack, I would beat out his brains.
How. If it please your highness to say the word,
We'll pluck him out of Quintin's by the ears.
King. No, cousin Howard; we'll reserve our valour
For better purpose. Since they both refuse us,
Ourselves will be unrivall'd in our honour.
Now our first cast, my lord, is at main France,
Whilst yet our army is in health and strong;
And, have we once but broke into that war,
I will not leave St. Paul, nor Burgundy,
A bare pig's-cote to shroud them in.-Herald !
Go, herald! and to Lewis, the French king,
Denounce stern war, and tell him I am come
To take possession of my realm of France.
Defy him boldly from us. Be thy voice
As fierce as thunder, to affright his soul.
Herald, begone, I say! and be thy breath
Piercing as lightning, and thy words as death !
Her. I go, my liege, resolv'd to your high will.
King. Sound drum, I say; set forward with our power ;
And, France, ere long expect a dreadful hour!
I will not take the English standard down,
Till thou empale my temples with thy crown.
SCENE II.-A Street in St. Quintin's.
Enter several ways, BURGUNDY and the Constable of France.
Con.
Whither away so fast goes Burgundy ?
Bur. Nay, rather, whither goes the Constable ?
Con. Why, to King Edward, man.
Mean'st thou not likewise to go visit him ?
Bur. Oh, excellent! I know that in thy soul
Thou know'st that I do purpose nothing less.
Nay, I do know, for all thy outward show,
Thou hast no meaning once to look on him.
Brother dissembler, leave this colouring
With him that means as falsely as thyself.
Con. Ay, but thou know'st that Edward on our letters,
And hoping our assistance when he came,
Did make this purpos'd voyage into France;
And with his forces is he here arrived,
Trusting that we will keep our word with him.
Now, though we mean it not, yet set a face
Upon the matter, as though we intended
To keep our word with him effectually.
Bur. And for my better count'nance in this case,
My ling'ring siege at Nuse will serve the turn.
There will I spend the time to disappoint
King Edward's hope of my conjoining with him.
Con. And I will keep me still here in St. Quintin's,
Pretending mighty matters for his aid,
But not performing any, on my word.
(Aside.) The rather, Burgundy, because I aim
At matters which perhaps may cost your head,
If all hit right to expectation.
In the mean space, like a good crafty knave,
That hugs the man he wisheth hang'd in heart,
Keep I fair weather still with Burgundy,
Till matters fall out for my purpose fit.
Bur. Well, Constable! you'll back again to Nuse,
And not aid English Edward?
And keep thou in St. Quintin's; so shall we
Smile at King Edward's weak capacity.
Bur. Are ye so crafty, Constable? proceed,
You quick, sharp-sighted man! imagine me
Blind, witless, and a silly idiot,
That pries not into all your policies !
Who, I? no, God doth know, my simple wit
Can never sound a judgment of such reach,
As is our cunning Constable of France !
Persuade thyself so still, and when time serves,
And that thou art in most extremity,
Needing my help, then take thou heed of me ;
In mean while, sir, you are the only man
That hath my heart. Ay, and great reason too.
Thus it befits men of deep reach to do.
[Exit.
SCENE III.-The French King's Palace.
Enter LEWIS, Bourbon, ST. PIERRE, and Mugeroun, with the English Herald.
Lewis. Herald of England, we are pleas'd to hear
What message thou hast brought us from thy king.
Prepare thyself, and be advis'd in speech.
Right gracious and most Christian King of France !
I come not to thy presence unprepared
To do the message of my royal liege.
Edward the Fourth, of England and of France
The lawful king, and Lord of Ireland,
Whose puissant magnanimous breast incens'd,
Through manifest notorious injuries,
Offer'd by thee, King Lewis, and thy French,
Against his title to the crown of France,
Breathes forth by me, the organ of his speech,
Hostile defiance to thy realm and thee.
And trampling now upon the face of France
With barbéd horse and valiant armed foot,
Himself the leader of those martial troops,
Bids thee to battle, where and when thou dar'st,
Except thou make such restitution
And yearly tribute on good hostages,
As may content his just conceivéd wrath.
And to this message answer I expect.
Lew. Right peremptory is this embassage ;
And were my royal brother of England pleased
To entertain those kind affections
Wherewith we do embrace his amity,
Needless were all these thunder-threat'ning words.
Let Heaven, where all our thoughts are register'd,
Bear record with what deep desire of peace
We shall subscribe to such conditions
As equity for England shall propound.
If Edward have sustained wrong in France,
Lewis was never author of that wrong;
Yet, faultless, we will make due recompense.
We are assur'd that his majestic thoughts,
In his mild spirit, did never mean these wars,
Till Charles Burgundy, once our fawning friend,
But now our open foe, and Count St. Paul,
Our subject once and Constable of France
But now a traitor to our realm and us,
Were motives to incite him unto arms,
Which having done, they will leave him, on my life,
Her. The king my master recks not Burgundy,
And scorns St. Paul, that treach'rous Constable.
His puissance is sufficient in itself
To conquer France, like his progenitors.
Lew. He shall not need to waste by force of war,
Where peace shall yield him more than he can win.
We covet peace, and we will purchase it
At any rate that reason can demand.
And it is better England join in league
With us, his strong, old, open enemy,
Than with those weak and new dissembling friends.
We do secure us from our open foes,
But trust in friends (though faithless) we repose.
My lord St. Pierre and cousin Bourbon, speak.
What censure you of Burgundy and St. Paul?
St. Pierre. Dread lord, it is well known that Burgundy Made show of service to your majesty,
Till, by the engine of his flatteries,
He made a breach into your highness' love ;
Where enter'd once and thereof full possessed,
He so abus'd that royal excellence
By getting footing into many towns,
Castles, and forts, belonging to your crown,
That now he holds them 'gainst your realm and you.
Bour. And Count St. Paul, the Constable of France,
Ambitious in that high authority,
Usurps the lands and seigniories of those
That are true subjects, noble peers of France.
Your boundless favours did him first suborn;
And now to be your liegeman he thinks scorn.
Lew. By this, conjecture the unsteady course
Thy royal master undertakes in France:
And, herald, intimate what fervent zeal
We have to league with Edward and his English.
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